 | Poetical Works of Robert Bridges excluding the eight dramas |  |
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[To my love I whisper, and say]
To my love I whisper, and say
Knowest thou why I love thee?—Nay:
Nay, she saith; O tell me again.—
Knowest thou why I love thee?—Nay:
Nay, she saith; O tell me again.—
When in her ear the secret I tell,
She smileth with joy incredible—
She smileth with joy incredible—
Ha! she is vain—O nay—
Then tell us!—Nay, O nay.
But this is in my heart,
Then tell us!—Nay, O nay.
That Love is Nature's perfect art,
And man hath got his fancy hence,
To clothe his thought in forms of sense.
Fair are thy works, O man, and fair
Thy dreams of soul in garments rare,
Beautiful past compare,
Yea, godlike when thou hast the skill
To steal a stir of the heavenly thrill:
Thy dreams of soul in garments rare,
Beautiful past compare,
Yea, godlike when thou hast the skill
To steal a stir of the heavenly thrill:
But O, have care, have care!
'Tis envious even to dare:
And many a fiend is watching well
To flush thy reed with the fire of hell.
'Tis envious even to dare:
And many a fiend is watching well
To flush thy reed with the fire of hell.
| Poetical Works of Robert Bridges excluding the eight dramas | |